Stolen Memories
by DanniV
Summary: In Azkaban, the only accepted currency is memories. To be fed, for clothing so you don't die from the cold…it all comes at a price. It costs a little bit of you every time until there is nothing left but a shell. When Severus is released and Hermione goes to find him, will there be anything left of the man she once loved?
1. Anything but the Memories of You

**AN:** Reloading this story I wrote in high school… I had to "delete" all my stories when my parents found my ffn account years ago, but I luckily held on to most of them. Thought this one might deserve to be seen again. It's a different look at the Dementors and why people go insane in Azkaban.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the really bad dialog!

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**Ch1: Anything but the Memories of You**

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I wake up slowly; savoring the feel of my first good night's rest in 3 years. I stretch under the silk sheets and feel the ache of under-used muscles. I roll over in bed reaching for you – only to find a cold pillow.

The room is pitch black as I get out of your bed and rummage in your closet for something to wear. Finding one of your old shirts I don it and leave the bedroom. The contrast between the darkness of your room to the hall blinds me was I pad silently down the hall in search of you.

You never were much of a sleeper. During the war you were lucky to get three to five hours a night. Why I thought that would ever change is beyond me.

I check every room as I walk down the hall. The bathroom. The library. Your study. As I pass the kitchen I realize that just like your sleep schedule hasn't changed, your morning routine probably hadn't either. You are a creature of habit.

I turn and head for your potions room.

I walk through your house marveling at how it doesn't fit you at all. I am so used to your Spartan room at Hogwarts. Your family had much more expensive taste then you. I look at all the finely kept furniture knowing it would be covered in dust if it weren't for your house-elves.

Taking a left down a set of stairs, I descend into the depths of the house. Halfway down the stairs, I stop mid-step remembering a detection ward I placed here during the war. It would announce any deatheaters popping in unannounced for a visit.

Quickly I remove it and continue on my way. I don't want to alert you to my presence just yet. Turning another corner I see light from behind the door and know I have guessed right. Soundlessly I enter the room to find you working two cauldrons at once with a…potion book before you.

The book surprises me. You always complained about the clutter they caused as I used them. You knew every potion ever invented from start to finish. So the appearance of the book is disconcerting to say the least.

Not turning around you say quietly, "They took the memories away." Your words startle me. But of course you would know I was here. Years as a spy, you had to be able to hear the silence to survive.

"Who?" I whisper quietly.

You don't look up as you speak, stirring with one hand and mincing beetle legs with the other, "In Azkaban…they feed…" your hand continues to chop strongly as your voice falters for a second, "They take your memories. They feed on good memories."

I want to run to you and hold you. But I stand still not daring to move in fear that you might turn in on yourself.

"I have…I have so few." You wave your hand over the cauldron freezing it in place. You rest your hands on the table in front of you and you hang your head in exhaustion. "I didn't want to lose the memory of you. I built a fortress around every memory of you. Of us. I gave them memories of my school days. Those…those days mean so little to me. I gave them the feeling of riding a broom. I can get that back…" You run your hand through your over grown hair as you pause.

"I gave them the instructions to every potion I ever learned."

Tears fight to break the barrier of my eyes as I imagine the horrors you unjustly suffered. No public apology. No medal. Nothing will ever fix that. Nothing will ever make it okay.

"The Ministry's official position is that the dementors are there to keep the prisoners at bay…but the jailers turn a blind eye, some times even encourage them to do more. Memories are the only currency in that hell. To be fed... for clothing so you don't die from the cold…it comes at a price, costs a little bit of you every time until there is nothing left. They took the memories of Albus. I can still feel those memories on the very edge of my awareness. I reach out in the fog for them…"

You pause for a moment trying to compose yourself. "I nearly starved before giving up those memories…but it was either my last memory of Albus or – a memory of you."

You turn to me now, tears in your eyes you cross the room in four quick strides gripping my arms you lock on my eyes.

"I wouldn't give them any of you, Hermione. I would give them anything but you. I can't make a single potion by memory any more. I need books. Something I haven't needed since I was a 7th year…but I gave them without grudge…to save you. I have lost my memory…some of the memories that make me the man I am…but I have you," your hand caresses my check, wiping my tears away with the pad of your thumb, "my dear, Hermione, you kept me from dying in that place."

I reach for you now, holding you in my arms. We fall to the ground under the weight of everything that has happened. And we weep together on the cold stone floor. I know you have said all you wish to say. Never did I dream you would tell me all so readily or so soon.

As a matter of nature you never had let me in very far. Even when you confessed your love all those years ago, you held back, in fear of rejection.

That hell, with its monsters, broke you. Broke my Severus. My strong creature of habit, that I fell in love with as a schoolgirl, sits crumpled before me and by Merlin I love you all the more. What you survived would have killed any other man. But not my Severus. Not mine.

After a time we stand. You notice as I suppress a shiver in only your shirt and you undo your cloak and wrap it around me. Our eyes meet in understanding. We will rebuild what memories we can. And make new ones of happiness and peace to fill the void. But it can wait a day or so as we recover and restore your body…then we will tackle the slow process of healing your mind and soul.

"You haven't eaten anything since you got home…let me fix you something."

You nod absently…you are pulling back into yourself after your breakdown. You don't like being weak…vulnerable…you fear I will leave a helpless man.

But I know no other home but your arms. My place is at your side and I have no plans of leaving.

You turn back to your potions, a lost man grasping for any scrap of memory in the words on the page.

Heading for the kitchen to ask the house elves for some food, I whisper just before closing the door, "No Severus, I will not abandon you. You are my home."

You don't know that I know you hear. But I do. You were meant to. And I continue on up the stairs as if I'm unaware.

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**AN:** Sorry that Severus is a little...well unSeveruslike. Blame it on Azkaban. It changed him to the core of his being. I've never been very good at dialogue and this story needed a lot of dialog to get across what i wanted to say.


	2. Let the New Memories Begin

**AN:** Here is part 2 re-uploaded. Enjoy!

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Ch 2: Let the New Memories Begin

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After transfiguring your shirt into a robe I make my way back up to the kitchen. I wipe a stray tear from my eye now and again thinking how lucky I am not to be the make-up wearing type like Lavender.

Oh how she will throw a fit when she finds out my choice of lovers! I'm so glad to be rid of her and all those other girls and their constant pitying sideways glances as they talked about dates and boys when they thought poor Hermione had none. Oh how they were wrong.

A tapping on the window wakes me from my brooding. I look up to see an owl tapping on the windowpane. I'm surprised that you would be getting any mail but I then I notice that it is only my subscription of the Daily Prophet. I open the window and take the paper from its beak. Moving back towards the table I absentmindedly point the owl towards my water glass. It drinks happily as I brace myself for the headlines. Sure enough covering the whole front page is a picture of you being led out of Azkaban.

_Deatheater and Murderer of Albus Dumbledore_

_Severus Snape is Released_

I quickly read through the article and to my disgust…but not surprise…there is no mention of your heroic acts or how you were unjustly imprisoned or even that you were a spy for the Order!

"Those bloody-bastards" I yell throwing the paper across the room – sending the owl fluttering. I hand it its pay and it flies away quickly, not wanting to risk any more thrown objects.

Sitting down at the table I rest my head in my hands and mumble over and over, "Those bloody bastard…. those horrible self serving bastards!" Raising my head, something in the newspaper catches my eye.

Not bothering to pick it up, I drop to my knees beside it on the floor and read frantically. It is only the gossip page…but still…there…in front of me, clear as day, is the back of my head as I walked up to your house last night.

_Unknown Cloaked Figure Visits House of Murderer Severus Snape_

_Diagon Alley Whore or Long-separated Lover?_

I throw back my head and howl like a mad woman under a curse. What is this world coming to? I fall to the ground…tears streaming down my face as I let out years of frustration and anger. I feel the noise wards tingle around me and I curse myself quietly as I hear running footsteps coming up the stairs. I forgot about that ward on the kitchen and berate myself for worrying you. Looking up from where I lay on the floor, the laughter and tears still in my eyes, I see you standing in the doorway, with your wand drawn and worry written across your face.

"Hermione!? Are you okay?! What happened?!" you say between gasps for air.

I pick up the paper and hold it up so you can see the headline clearly.

The corner of your mouth shows your amusement, though the smirk does not travel to your eyes. But it's a start.

You step into the kitchen and pull me to my feet. I move to step back so I can make you something to eat. But your hand pulls me possessively to you. You hold me and I can feel your excitement against my leg before I even look into your eyes. As my gaze meets yours, for a second the broken man that I held in the potions room disappears and I can see a spark of the old Severus – my Severus.

"So my Diagon whore or long-lost lover…care to retire to bed?" you say with a twinkle worthy of Albus in your eyes.

I smile impishly up at you, "Why Mr. Snape it's only two in the afternoon… besides" I say running a hand down your chest, "I haven't been paid for last night's services."

You pull me tighter to you; "I have another form of payment in mind that I am sure you will find quite to your satisfaction." And before I can retort, you whisk me off my feet and carry me towards the stairs, leaving my robe to transfigure back into your shirt alone on the kitchen floor.

As we move down the hall towards your room, I start to kiss up and down your neck. And as I nibble on your earlobe I think, 'It isn't gonna be so bad helping you make new memories."

We have lost so much. It is time to start living the way we choose, not how others choose for us. We are free and I am determined to keep it that way.

We enter the dark bedroom and stumble to the bed. As our lips meet I think, 'Let the new memories begin.'

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**AN:** Hoped you all liked it. I really had fun writing the headlines.


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